Magical Marvel: The Rise of Arthur Hayes

September 1st, 1994 dawned with the crisp promise of autumn, a gentle breeze carrying the scent of rain-washed concrete and diesel fumes through London's busy streets. King's Cross Station hummed with its usual chaotic symphony—the rhythmic clacking of departure boards, tinny announcements echoing through the vaulted ceiling, businessmen in pressed suits brushing past backpack-laden tourists. Normal people living normal lives.

Arthur Hayes moved through this sea of humanity with practiced indifference. At seventeen, he cut an imposing figure despite his youth—tall and lean with raven-black hair that fell just short of his collar and piercing blue eyes that seemed to calculate everything they observed. His attire spoke of quiet wealth: dark tailored jeans, a charcoal button-down, and a sleek blazer that probably cost more than some people's monthly rent. Nothing flashy, nothing that screamed for attention, but quality that whispered of old money.

Unlike the others around him, Arthur wasn't here for business or pleasure. He was here to board a special train, a train that would take him to his school—for the final time.

Soon he was standing before an unremarkable wall between platforms 9 and 10. To the mundane observer, it was just another part of the station's architecture. But Arthur knew better. This ordinary wall was the gateway to Platform 9¾, the hidden platform where the Hogwarts Express awaited to carry students to the most prestigious school of witchcraft and wizardry in Britain.

Arthur was a student at Hogwarts, boarding for his seventh and final year. But unlike the excited first-years or nostalgic seniors, his expression betrayed nothing. This was merely a journey he'd endured six times before—one more wouldn't change a thing.

As he approached the barrier separating the mundane from the magical, a familiar face emerged from the crowd. A woman in her late thirties with auburn hair cut in a practical bob, wearing a well-tailored suit that could easily conceal multiple weapons.

Arthur suppressed a sigh. He would recognize that face anywhere. Aurora Thatcher, his unofficial guardian and an agent working for the MI6 wizarding affairs division. It was a complicated arrangement, one he had never asked for but couldn't entirely escape.

"Arthur," she greeted him, her voice a pleasant alto, though laced with a professional coolness that never quite vanished. A small, almost polite smile touched her lips. "Off for your final year, I presume?"

"Obviously," Arthur replied, his tone clipped, devoid of any warmth. He wasn't rude, not overtly, but he saw no need to feign pleasantries. He had known Aurora for years, in the way a monitored subject knows their handler. "What are you doing here?"

She smiled, though there was a hint of something sharper in her eyes. "Can't I just come to see you off? It's your final year, after all."

"How sentimental," Arthur replied dryly. "I didn't think that was in your job description."

"It's not." She glanced at her watch—an expensive timepiece that doubled as a magical detector. "But I've always exceeded expectations, haven't I?"

Arthur studied her face, noting the slight shadows beneath her eyes, the tightness around her mouth. "What does MI6 want now?"

Aurora's smile faded, replaced by a more businesslike expression. "Always straight to the point. Fine. Have you reconsidered our offer?"

Arthur's eyes narrowed slightly. "There's nothing to consider. I told you before—I'm not interested in working for anyone, especially not a government agency."

"You have unique talents, Arthur," Aurora pressed. "Talents that could benefit—"

"Not interested." Arthur interrupted. "If you want my help, I've already given your boss the option."

Aurora hesitated. "My director isn't comfortable with the arrangement you proposed. Hiring someone your age as an independent consultant isn't standard procedure."

"Then we have nothing further to discuss," Arthur stated flatly. "If they want my expertise, they'll meet my terms."

A tense silence stretched between them before Aurora sighed. "You know, most teenagers would jump at the opportunity we're offering."

"I'm not most teenagers," Arthur replied. "Was there anything else, or may I proceed to my train?"

Aurora shifted her weight, studying him. "Never understood why you wizards take an ordinary train to school. It should be easier to just travel the way you usually do. Teleport from one place to another."

"Wizards have weird minds and peculiar tastes," Arthur said with the faintest hint of disdain. "I'm happy this will be my final year here."

Aurora sighed, the professional mask slipping just slightly. "So it's still America after graduation? You're really leaving Britain behind?"

"This country has nothing for me," Arthur replied, something dark flickering across his features. "The opportunities I need are elsewhere."

"Opportunities," Aurora repeated, watching him carefully. "Or is it that this place holds too many memories?"

Arthur's expression hardened. "Both. Is that all?"

"Safe journey, Arthur," she said, her professional mask slipping to reveal genuine concern. "A letter now and then wouldn't kill you."

Arthur offered a curt nod, neither a promise nor a refusal. "Goodbye, Aurora. See you when I see you."

Without waiting for her response, he walked purposefully toward the barrier, the familiar magical shimmer becoming visible only to his trained eye as he approached. He stepped through, leaving the mundane world and Aurora Thatcher behind.

Platform Nine and Three-Quarters exploded into view—a vibrant tableau of steam, scarlet, and boisterous farewells. The Hogwarts Express, a gleaming engine of crimson and brass, dominated the platform, hissing impatiently as plumes of white steam momentarily obscured the throng of students and families.

As Arthur walked along the platform toward the train, he could feel the subtle shift in atmosphere, the almost palpable hum of magic in the air. He was back in the wizarding world, a realm he both understood intimately and utterly rejected.

Parents fussed over children, loading trunks and cages containing owls, cats, and toads. First-years huddled in nervous excitement, older students greeted friends with enthusiastic embraces, prefects strutted importantly with their badges gleaming. 

Arthur moved through this sea of humanity with purpose, his presence drawing whispers and sidelong glances. He was used to it by now—the rumors, the judgment, the way people seemed to shrink away from him. It didn't bother him. Not anymore.

He boarded the train and found an empty compartment near the rear. Sliding the door shut behind him, he settled into the seat by the window, his gaze fixed on the platform outside. The compartment was quiet, a stark contrast to the chaos beyond its confines. Arthur leaned his head against the glass, watching as families said their final goodbyes. He didn't need to look to know that no one would join him. His reputation ensured that.

Just as the train's whistle blew, signaling its imminent departure, the compartment door slid open. Arthur glanced up to see three familiar faces: Harry Potter, Ron Weasley, and Hermione Granger. The Golden Trio of Gryffindor. For a moment, there was silence as they took in the sight of him.

Weasley reacted first, his freckled face screwing up in recognition. "Let's find another compartment," he muttered, already backing away.

Potter hesitated, looking between Arthur and his friend. "Why? What's wrong?"

"Trust me," Weasley insisted, tugging at Potter's sleeve. "I'll explain later."

The Boy Who Lived gave Arthur one last curious glance before allowing himself to be pulled away. But the girl—Granger—lingered a moment longer, her sharp eyes falling to the notebook in Arthur's hands where complex formulas and diagrams were sketched with meticulous precision.

"Those aren't school books," she observed, academic curiosity momentarily overriding caution.

"No," Arthur confirmed, offering nothing more.

She seemed about to ask something else when Weasley called from the corridor. "Hermione, come on!"

With a last curious look, she followed her friends, sliding the compartment door closed.

Arthur returned his attention to the window, a faint, mirthless smile playing at his lips. Even the famous Harry Potter, savior of the wizarding world, wasn't immune to house prejudices. So predictable. So limited in their understanding of the world beyond their narrow experiences.

Arthur turned his gaze to the window as the urban landscape of London began to dissolve into the green and gold of the English countryside. The train lurched forward, gathering speed as it carried its passengers away from the mundane world and toward the ancient castle that housed Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

Logos and colors. That was all it took, wasn't it? To define, to categorize, to judge. Green and silver. A snake emblem. Slytherin. Muggle-born. The labels clung to him like shadows, shaping perceptions, dictating interactions.

He glanced down at his robes, the deep green fabric, the silver trim, the coiled snake embroidered on his chest. Just cloth, just colors, just a symbol. But in this world, they were everything. A brand. A barrier. A destiny... he was determined to transcend.

His final year. His last journey on this train. It was an ending, yes—but also a beginning. Beyond Hogwarts, beyond the wizarding world, lay a far larger stage: a world of gods and monsters, of technology and innovation.